


Over This

by alittleshitwithfeels



Category: LazyTown
Genre: Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Trans Robbie, in which the author casually projects all of their issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 17:36:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8762551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittleshitwithfeels/pseuds/alittleshitwithfeels
Summary: This disguise had been a mistake. He should’ve known when the urge to rip it off nearly overwhelmed him the moment the dress settled around his shoulders.





	

**Author's Note:**

> why have a fav fictional character if u cant project all of ur own gender issues onto them??? hahahaha...
> 
> oh and [here's](http://somebodysaveniccolomachiavelli.tumblr.com/post/154081457011/over-this-alittleshitwithfeels) the link to the tumblr post i made for this fic if u wanna reblog it or w/e

This disguise had been a mistake. He should’ve known when the urge to rip it off nearly overwhelmed him the moment the dress settled around his shoulders. At the time, he had insisted it would be fine despite the piercing _wrongness_. Anything for permanent peace and quiet, right?

What a stupid decision.

Robbie let himself trip on the uneven pavement, not minding the pain of impact as long as it knocked his goddamned wig off. He pulled himself off of the ground uncharacteristically fast, lacking the patience to do his usual “dramatic” reveal. Still, the kids chorused “Robbie Rotten” albeit in a confused manner. As far as they could remember, Robbie’s plans had never unfurled _this_ fast! They felt like they had _just_ met this new character; they could barely remember what her name had been.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever brats!” Without much flourish, he stalked off without bothering to pick up the wig.

Stephanie cocked her head with a frown. That was weird even for Robbie.

 

Robbie stalked into his lair, violently flinging off the stupidly uncomfortable shoes he’d chosen to wear with his equally shitty outfit. He cursed as he ripped off the dress, almost relishing in the sound of popped seams. He fumbled with the clasp of his bra for a while before finally unhooking it and flinging it across the room. The lair’s usual draft made him shiver, but he stared at the disaster at his feet for a few beats before he made himself move.

Unconsciously, he wrapped his arms around his chest as if to hide it and slunk off to clean the makeup from his face. He stared at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror, getting lost in his own face and losing track of time. When his gaze stared drifting too close to his chest, he forced himself to pick up the makeup wipe and start working.

Nausea hit him in waves, but he managed to clean his face without incident.

He yanked his binder from the hanger he’d left it on and slid it on, taking momentary solace in the familiar, comforting pressure. Why’d he bother to go without it? An extra touch for a dumb disguise? It wasn’t as if the children were observant creatures; all of his disguises worked all the time.

Robbie shuffled to his wardrobe, if the orange tubes of disguises could be called that. He would just put on his usual…. But that showed off his hips and _no no no no no no…._ Sighing, his shuffled to his trunk of miscellaneous junk and slipped on a pair of old sweatpants and an equally old hoodie before flopping unceremoniously into his chair.

This whole thing had been a disaster!

But it shouldn’t have been. The disguise worked perfectly, the children called him “she” and “ma’am” and “miss” and... It made him want to vomit. Every single one of those addresses felt like a punch to the gut, even though they didn’t know. They weren’t…. He should’ve been glad they were so thoroughly fooled! He should’ve been able to follow through!

He thought he’d gotten over this.

Robbie mashed the heels of his hands into his eyes, unsure whether he wanted to cry, vomit, or both at once. The thought of ripping off his flesh piece by piece entered his thoughts, but he did his best to ignore the urge.

 

The kids, Stephanie leading the pack, walked almost timidly up to Sportacus, who was preoccupied with doing soccer tricks. Finally noticing the kids, he beamed and kicked the soccer ball into his hand. He opened his mouth to ask whether they were up for a game, but the looks on their faces gave him pause.

“Is something the matter?”

Stephanie shuffled her feet. “We’re… worried about Robbie. He was acting kinda strange.”

“Yeah, stranger than usual!” Trixie interrupted.

“He was gonna trick us, I think,” Stephanie continued. “But it didn’t seem like he got too far in his plan before he tripped and his disguise fell off.” She held up the abandoned wig. “He left in such a hurry that he left this.”

Pixel piped up. “He’s never, ever left part of a disguise before! I checked!”

“And we wanted to return it….” Ziggy mumbled and Stingy muttered something along the lines of ‘speak for yourself’.

“But we were nervous.” Stephanie finished.

Sportacus took the wig and flashed the kids a reassuring smile. “Well I’ll make sure he gets this back.”

“And make sure he’s okay?”

“And make sure he’s okay.” He tossed the ball to Trixie and jumped off toward Robbie’s lair.

 

When Sportacus reached the hatch, he politely knocked on its surface only to be greeted with silence. Perhaps Robbie was asleep and couldn’t hear, but he didn’t want to just leave the wig setting out. Besides, he told the kids he would make sure Robbie was okay. So he twisted the hatch open and quietly climbed down.

Sportacus frowned once he laid eyes on Robbie, who was huddled on his shag chair and had his knees pulled into his chest. He couldn’t shake the wrongness of Robbie’s posture and clothes; they didn’t fit the man at all.

“Robbie?”

Robbie lurched from his introversion at the voice. “Go away!” He shouted, voice surprisingly hoarse. Had he been crying? He drew his hands from his face and scowled at the intrusion. How’d the damn elf get in without him noticing?

Sportacus worried his lip. “You left your wig on the street but-.”

“Toss it over there,” Robbie interjected, waving in a random direction. “And get _out_ , Sporta- Sporta _flop_!”

“Are you alright?”

Robbie growled in frustration. How nosey could the elf be? “Get out!”

Sportacus hesitated. “Robbie, I want-.”

“To help; yes, I’m well aware of your modus operandi!” He snapped, extracting himself from his chair to impose his height, even if his red, watery eyes made him less than threatening. “I’m not a kitten stuck in a tree, _fuck off!_ ”

Sportacus flinched and stared at Robbie in shock. For all the villain’s blustering, he’d never been so _hostile_ , or rather, so vicious. He held out the wig almost as a peace-offering, only to have it snatched away and tossed to some unseen corner of the room.

“Leave.”

“I will, just-.”

“Out!”

“If you need to talk-.”

“What part of ‘fuck off’ don’t you understand?!”

Sportacus held up his hands in a placating gesture and backed off, carefully picking his way out of the lair.

Robbie huffed and collapsed back onto his chair. He didn’t need to talk to anyone. What he _needed_ was to get over himself and stop feeling so awful that a disguise _worked._ He wasn’t an emotional, lost, withdrawn teen anymore.

Perhaps a nap would fix this. Sleep, when it came, always made him feel better.


End file.
